Save me
by Sayuri-2012
Summary: Seven years ago he made a devastating choice that forced him to acknowledge just how much he cared, so how could he possibly stay away now when she needs him more than she ever has? One-shot.


Save me

_"No! Olivia! Oh my God! No! No!" _

His panicked cry reverberated in her mind, but it was the raw emotion apparent in his eyes that had remained with her most acutely since that day in the bus terminal: the fear, the horror, but also something else, something that had thoroughly terrified her as much as she had hungered for it. But the memory mainly just filled her with sadness now, for it brutally reminded her that back then he had cared. Back then he would have done anything for her. Back then, when she was one of the two most important things in his life.

Now as she hugged her knees close to her chest, she had barely noticed how the darkness had slowly and relentlessly crept into the room. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa, acutely aware of just how much his absence still hurt, even after all this time, especially now. It was guttural. Nothing had ever compared to it in her life. She had grown up feeling as though she were facing the world alone for the most part, so the practical side of her supposed she should be used to it. But those years when he had been by her side, as her partner and her best friend, she hadn't been lonely any more and it was only after he had gone that she had truly recognized just how much she had come to take his presence for granted.

How had this happened? After Seal View she had determined never to let herself get into such a dire situation again, yet she had come home that day, tired and disappointed and she had let her guard down. It was the plain and simple truth. This could all have been avoided if she had paid more attention, if she had allowed herself to look beyond her frustration at the collapse of the case against Lewis and had mustered the foresight to predict that he might try something like this, especially given his past behaviour. In retrospect it was chillingly predictable. The way he had stared at her in that interview room, watching her curiously as he had tried to elicit a reaction. There had been something about his demeanour then which should have alerted her to the fact that she had fatally caught his attention. Instead, she had been focused on simply escaping the room. He had unsettled her so completely that it had detrimentally affected her judgement. It was a mistake she would regret for the rest of her life.

Absentmindedly she cradled her broken arm. It was still painful, but it was only one ache amongst many. The truth was her body was covered with bruises, burns and cuts. It seemed there was no patch of skin on her body that had escaped his attention. Even her seasoned colleagues had been shocked at the extent of her injuries. No one had expected this. No one had predicted it. They had gone out for drinks after the court case and she had wandered home despondently, not really wanting to be alone, but not wanting to be with anyone else either. It had occurred to her at the time, that had _he_ been there, he would never have let her go home alone like that.

Assuming he hadn't insisted on taking her out for that drink, which incidentally had he been there she suspected she would have accepted, he would have insisted on taking her home, seeing her up to her apartment or at the very least waiting downstairs in his car until he was certain she had entered safely. He would have waited for the signal, the flashing of lights that he sometimes insisted on, or maybe instead for the irritated text she would probably have sent when she realised he was still down there, telling him to stop fussing over her and get home to his family. He had never taken her safety lightly. He would have considered the possibility of retaliation from Lewis. He would have made sure he hadn't followed her home. It would have annoyed her no end… but she would have been safe.

Even if he had somehow missed the fact that Lewis had been waiting for her arrival home, at the very least he would have noticed she was missing a hell of a lot sooner. There was no way he would have just left her alone for two whole days after a case like that. He would have been knocking at her door first thing the next morning. He would have known the second her phone went to answer machine that something was up.

She took a long deep breath, exasperated with her own train of thought. Why was she doing this to herself? He was gone and sitting here bemoaning that wasn't going to do her any good. She was a survivor after all. She would pick herself up, go to a therapist, work through it all, go back to her job and get on with her life. Only, right now, it was hard to imagine what it could possibly be like six months to be down the road. Right now the images and memories bombarded her mind relentlessly. Every single little thing seemed to trigger a memory that she had forgotten and that in turn triggered more of the ones she would never ever forget.

His lips were suddenly against hers, pressing through the tape and she was bombarded by the myriad of sensations that she couldn't get out of her head: the smell of him, his menacing proximity, the sound of distant cars outside, representing an outside world that was so close yet so far, the feel of her heart pounding in her own chest, the battle against the nausea she felt as a result of all the alcohol and sleeping pills, the dryness of her mouth, her desperate need for water, the image of _him_ in her mind, telling her to be strong because she would get her chance to make him pay for what he was doing to her, the fear as she recognised the extent of the anger that coursed through her. Then, he had pressed his body against her and she could feel something hard against her thigh and it made her want to vomit. It was vile, disgusting. His fingers played at the edge of her top, exposing the flesh of her upper chest and she winced as he leered appreciatively. The way he treated her and her body like they were his now, a possession to play with and do as he liked, thoroughly demoralized her. He ran his fingers over the burn on her chest and she desperately tried not to cry out. _His _name was on the tip of her tongue. Even though she knew it was ridiculous to think he could hear her, she still wanted to scream it out. She wanted him here. He had been right all along. She did need him to come to the rescue. She always had.

She wasn't sure when the tears had started falling, but she supposed it may have been a while given how damp her cheeks now felt and how her nose was running. She reached for a tissue from the box on the coffee table and blew her nose forlornly. She remembered vividly how he had tied her to the chair, forced whiskey down her throat and then started threatening her. She had tried to act nonchalant, knowing that he would get off on her fear, partly not wanting to excite him and risk it escalating, but mainly because her pride insisted that she not show him just how much he was actually getting to her. But when he moved over and lit the stove, keeping a running commentary going about exactly what he was doing and exactly how he planned to brand her, she had been unable to prevent the tears of desperation as they rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes stung, her nose began to run and he had moved in front of her, placing his hands on her knees and looking straight into her eyes, a pleased smirk on his face.

"Do you want a tissue?" he had asked sweetly, his veiled enjoyment behind the innocent sounding inquiry only serving to further unnerve her. She could feel the moisture running down from her nose to her upper lip. Then he had grasped a tissue and wiped it for her and she had cringed, the humiliation at not being able to even wipe her own nose only further exacerbating her suffering.

"There you go," he had said in a gentle tone akin to the way an adult might talk to a small child. She had closed her eyes and his hands had risen up her thigh, softly kneading her flesh, sending a wave of terror through her that morphed into the harrowing recognition that there was absolutely no way out of this. He could do absolutely anything to her and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She was completely helpless.

It embarrassed her now how much she had wanted _him_ to come, how much she still wanted him to come. By rights he should be the last person she yearned for after the way he had left her, abandoning her after more then twelve years with not even a phone call. Who did that? Hadn't she meant anything to him? Had she just been part of his job all along, her presence a job requisite much along the lines of his badge and his gun; the partner that he hadn't really wanted but had recognized he had to treat carefully, as long as he wanted his job anyway. Surely it couldn't be true that he hadn't cared though? Not after everything they had been through together. Not after the way he had held her in his arms. Not after the way he had cradled her to him after he had thought she had been shot. That had been real. That wasn't something you could fake.

The tears wouldn't cease. What did it matter though? It wasn't that they made her feel any better exactly, but it was nice not to have to force herself to hold them in. She had cried in front of Brian a couple of times, but it had been awkward, both for him and for her. He never had been good with victims and she certainly wasn't very good at being one. She knew all the lines, she knew the score, and she knew how this would play out. It didn't make it any easier though. In some ways it was harder, for she was even more painfully aware of the reality of the difficult journey she faced. No one was ever the same after something like this and she knew she wouldn't be either. She couldn't help feeling sadness at the profound sense of loss. She had no idea who she was any more and it was disconcerting to say the least.

Her attention was diverted by the sound outside in the corridor and she immediately began to feel light-headed as a result of the frantic beating of her heart inside her chest. The fear was all-consuming and she hated it. She had never been afraid. She had been proud of the fact that she was a cop, that she knew what to do in almost any given situation and that she had the strength and knowledge to defend herself. She automatically reached for her gun, then cursed as she remembered that she had been forced to hand it over after her ordeal for evidence. She wouldn't be getting another one until she was cleared for service – assuming she ever was she thought wistfully.

She heard the knock and stared dazed at the door. Who could it be? Brian wasn't due back until the morning, thanks to an overnight shift he had been unable to avoid. She doubted it was any of her colleagues. They would have called first. She heard a second knock, slightly louder this time, revealing a touch of impatience perhaps. There was something about the rhythm that she vaguely recognised. She told herself to quit being such a coward and to get to her feet and quietly approach the door and check through the peephole, but she found herself involuntarily frozen, backed up against the sofa like a deer caught in headlights on a highway. She could hardly breathe. At least the tears had halted. Her chest felt like it was going to explode.

Then she heard the voice calling out her name and her fear instantly evaporated, replaced by absolute disbelief. Surely she had to be hearing things? In all reality she was imagining all of this. Her longing for his presence had brought about this hallucination. Maybe she was finally losing it?

But the voice called her name through the door again and she found herself responding automatically, instinctively. She dragged herself over to the door, unable to control the shaking as she peered through the peephole and saw it really was _him_. She fumbled with the chain and the lock, pausing before making the final turn as she felt herself come close to panicking at the thought of him really being here now, after all this time. She still suspected it had to be a trick, or her imagination, surely?

She pushed open the door, fully expecting the corridor to be empty, but it wasn't. His familiar outline stood before her and she stared speechlessly, still unable to comprehend that it really was him.

"My God, Olivia," she heard him say, but she didn't flinch. He was staring at her intently now, his eyes seeking out hers, the pain in his expression suddenly striking her hard and she realised the muffled sob had erupted from her own chest.

"Can I come in?" he asked nervously. She found herself nodding. He seemed unsure. Then she realised she had remained rooted to the same spot, effectively blocking his path inside. So she stepped back and he followed her inside.

"Can I put the light on?" he asked. Again she nodded weakly, watching him from her position by the door as he made to flip the main switch, but then thought better of it, his eyes sweeping the room before he stepped towards the lamp in the corner and turned that on instead. She was grateful. The lamp was much less dazzling, much less threatening somehow. It was still almost impossible to accept that he was here, that he had really come. She had longed for his presence so badly, in fact imagined a thousand and one ways he could possibly come back into her life. Each one involved an apology and a promise that he wouldn't ever leave her again, but he was just standing, staring at her transfixed. She could see the tears in his eyes, the horror in his expression, the pity on his face and embarrassed at her uncharacteristic vulnerability she turned her head downwards, staring at the floor as once again the tears began to edge their way out of her already damp eyes, rolling silently down her cheeks and dripping down onto her clothes, disappearing into the fabric.

"Why don't you sit down?" he said, his voice clearly relaying his nervousness. She could tell he was completely at a loss. So much time had passed. They were completely out of sync now. She knew he was apprehensive and she didn't blame him. Even she didn't know who she was any more. She was aware he was stepping towards her, conscious of the awkward way he placed his hand on her good arm, moving slowly, checking she was really okay with the contact, before gently guiding her towards the sofa. He sank down beside her, leaving a small enough gap between them so as not to be encroaching on her personal space, but close enough to give her no doubt that he was focused on being there in the way she so badly needed.

"Liv," he said gently. "I hope you don't mind me coming out of the blue like this. I saw it on the news. I wanted to come before, but I didn't know if it was the right thing to do. Then last night Cassidy called me and begged me to come and see you and so here I am."

"Brian called you?" she muttered bewildered.

"Yes, he did. I'm sorry Liv. I'm so sorry."

She stared at him puzzled as he placed his head in his hand on his chin averting his eyes for a few moments as he tried to regain his composure.

She continued to gaze at him, trying to get her head around the fact that Brian had called him. She'd had no idea that Brian had been so compos mentis of just how much her old partner really meant to her. But that meant he hadn't come of his own volition after all. He had only come because he had been asked to, begged to by her boyfriend. She felt like a fool for having thought he might actually have cared after all. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to come here and play with her emotions like this? What had she been thinking when she had let him in?

"Well you've seen me now," she said pointedly, knowing that he would understand her meaning.

"Liv, please, I…"

"El, I can't deal with this right now. You left. You didn't even call. How can you walk back in my life now expecting me to act like that didn't happen?" Her anger was acute. How dare he just walk in here so nonchalantly, acting as though he had a supreme right to know how she was, to hear what she had been through? Was coming here an attempt to assuage his guilt? Would he have even given her a second thought if she hadn't been in the newspapers, if her boyfriend hadn't called him?

"I'm sorry. I know I should have called. I should have explained."

"Yes you should," she said coldly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come." She watched incensed as he started to get to his feet.

"That's right. Sure. Run away. Like I didn't see that coming!"

He stopped in his tracks and turned. "I just thought that's what you wanted."

"You don't know shit about what I want," she spat.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Just leave, will you? Go back to your perfect family and your perfect life and just leave me the fuck alone." She turned away, unable to face the heartbreak of seeing him actually walk out the door. Why had he come? How could he have no idea what this was doing to her?

She could sense him still standing there and slowly she turned her head back upwards, glaring at him questioningly.

"Liv, I'm so sorry," he repeated, only this time she could hear the way his voice faltered and she noted with surprise that tears were beginning to work their way down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry," he continued. "I don't expect you to forgive me just like that, but one day… I hope you can. If I could go back and do it differently, I would."

"Why, El?" she asked, her tone defeated. It was a question that had plagued her, but the potential answer terrified her.

He stepped towards her, sinking to the ground beside her position on the sofa.

"I had to, Liv."

"What does that mean?" she asked exasperated.

"I couldn't do it any more, any of it. I needed the distance, from the job, from you, from everything."

"Why didn't you tell me? You know I would have understood."

"I know you would have. But if I had talked to you, if I had seen you one more time, I knew I wouldn't have been able to step away and I had to; for my marriage, for my kids, for my very sanity."

She took a slow breath out. She was trying to understand. She wanted so badly to understand, but the shadow of those weeks and months after he had gone remained etched within her soul and it was hard to shake off the devastating realisation that she hadn't meant anywhere near as much as to him as she had once thought.

"Huang said it's what makes me such a good partner, you know."

"What?" she asked perplexed.

"The fact that I… that I care…."

"You told Huang that?"

"After that boy was killed. After I chose you over the vic."

"We were partners for a long time," she sighed. "It was inevitable that we'd grow close."

"But I never stopped caring Liv," he continued, his voice almost a whisper now. "Then when that girl started shooting, I... Afterwards I knew I couldn't stay. I knew I had to make the break once and for all. I didn't want to hurt you. I just, I had to… for my family."

"It's, okay," she said slowly. "I get it."

"But I was wrong. I thought if I stepped away it would get easier. But it didn't."

She stared at him for a long moment before speaking, her tone now gentle, no more hint of anger.

"I missed you," she said simply.

"I missed you too," he echoed. "…and look at you now."

"It looks worse than it is," she said with a resigned shrug.

"Bullshit."

"The bruises will heal."

He looked at her sharply. They both knew very well that the bruises would be the easier part of her recovery.

"I'll be alright," she reaffirmed. "I know I need time, but I'll get there."

"I know you will," he said softly, as he impulsively took her hand in his, his grip tightening when she didn't pull away. "I know you will."


End file.
